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Life taken a step at a time

Author: mxie1000

Instead of building homes for those poor Guatemalan children or “teaching” Laotian villagers English, I’m going to be seeing my grandfather back in China in a few days. It’s always the highlight of my year since we’re so similar, and since he likes to show off the English he has learned over the past year to me. I’m thrilled to see what I’ll look like in seventy years–complaining about my back every morning, walking around a tiny courtyard over and over, and feasting on any greasy dish I can get my hands on. Recently, I’ve thought about what I have learned from him, and here are three lessons I’ve come up with.

Learn to laugh a little, and play the cards you’re dealt.

My grandfather’s only child is half a world away; he lives right next to the bathroom of his nursing home (he tells me he finds it convenient) that releases putrid odors on an hourly basis; he can barely walk; he eats food that may be the worst I’ve seen in my life. However, he isn’t one to complain. My grandpa enjoys whatever life throws at him. He finds joy in the simple tasks he still can perform, such as reading the news every morning, watching TV shows about health and international affairs, and brushing up on his English by reading some books my mom brought over. He takes quick walks whenever he can, watching the laundry gently bristle in the breeze and hearing the birds chirp life-affirming morning hymns. From him, I’ve learned to appreciate whatever I have, because it could be much worse.

2. Move on, move on, move on.

When my grandmother passed away five years ago, he remained calm, yet I had nightmares for a month straight. If I were in his position, I don’t know how many chocolate bars and soap operas I’d go through as self-imposed therapy, how many tissue boxes I’d use up in my daily bouts of tearful remembrance. My grandfather took it quietly, slowly. He began to re-arrange their shared room, stored some of their mementos from years past under his bed, and started going about his daily routine. Even when faced with his own eventual death, he remains effervescent, hopeful, and sagacious. It’s amazing to see someone so cool-headed that’s related to my mother, whose caprices I can barely handle at times. I truly admire his resilience to adversity–he remains my muse to this day.

3. Don’t bother others.

One of his defining personal philosophies was to not bother others. He never asked anyone for help with errands or events he could take care of himself. If he fell down, he picked himself back up, no matter how painful or how slow it took. He’s always been a fighter: daring, self-reliant, boldly independent. It’s this trait that has permeated throughout our entire family. In this way, I’ve learned to solve my own problems, find out my own answers, and see things for myself before I believe them. My grandfather has molded me to become a more inquisitive, thoughtful, and reliable person, for which I am forever grateful.

These days, I’ll keep on thinking of the inconspicuous, comforting grin he bears daily; the methodical way he darns his socks; his dazzling eyes that scan the paper for interesting articles to discuss with us. I can’t wait to be home.

As a nation of 320 million, we Americans tend to think of ourselves as celebrating diversity, but diversity inherently brings along conflict. Some of that conflict lies in political differences; as tribalism makes its stake on the Hill, we have settled into a land of two extremes.

What shocks me is the deliberate infusion of religion into politics. Go to any church in the Bible Belt and you’ll hear a lecture on the “correct”definition of marriage. Ask any grits-eating pastor how we started off and you’ll get a tale of a busy seven days; then he’ll tenuously trace that to how tree-hugging libtards are falsifying information about climate change.

Where is the love? Where is the profundity?

A Christian myself, I often wonder what my religious role models mean by denying pure, unequivocal fact. I have been taught that facts, anthropological, archeological, literary, and historical, all corroborate my religious beliefs. I have also been taught about the importance of love and humility. However, here we are in the modern age, refuting some of the most basic tenets of Christianity. Instead of preaching tolerance for our neighbors, we exude hatred and bigotry, shutting off immigrants with different skin tones and religions, shutting off our brothers and sisters with different sexualities and gender identities. Here we are in the modern age, relentlessly morphing friends into foes; science and religion used to be compatible, and now they are seemingly destined to battle for the minds of the future. On one side, unadulterated zeal for discovery. On another, jaded parochialism. There is no doubt that evolution and climate change are here to stay rightfully, given centuries worth of data and logical analysis.

This is why religion is fading into the background in Western industrialized nations; because we’ve fallen from our moral ideals, the religious establishment presents itself as a relic of a bygone era. By refusing to rethink old arbitrary notions, many obstinate churches across the U.S. are facing a gradual, painful death. Educated bicoastal millennials are shunning Sunday service in droves. In some circles, there’s even a social stigma attached to piety; religion for them belongs on the archival shelves of humanity.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Religion and marriage equality can coexist. Religion and science can coexist. In fact, the underlying principles of Christianity, universal love and fact-finding, also buttress gay pride and the burgeoning STEM sector. Furthermore, religion in this modern era provides, as researcher Philip Schwadel states, “community…friends…psychological support and economic support…a lot more than simply an understanding of where they are in the world in relation to the afterlife.” That’s the church I imagine: not one of angry white people preaching about the downfall of an open-border, sex-positive, multifarious nation, but of radiant smiles in dark nights, open arms to those who need to be loved the most, and of a gathering space for people from all walks of life, to break bread and seek shelter from anxiety-inducing social media and the surrounding vacuity. It’s a place of acceptance and understanding, a haven for those who have nowhere else to go. It’s a place of deep thought, of probing, of truth-finding. It’s for the forever-single adventure-seekers, wine-guzzling housewives, and unemployed college graduates. Christianity is for everyone.

Traditional church leaders need to undergo a serious period of introspection and a heartfelt transformation in order to win back its future… including me.

These past few years, race has emerged as a topic of discussion in Highland Park, a community whiter than a marshmallow. One reason is the influx of minorities; thankfully, HP is gradually getting more diverse as time goes on. However, not all are receptive to this change. There have been numerous incidents of overt racism, ranging from hate crimes to petty remarks. This became the exigence for the Bagpipe‘s (our school’s newsmagazine) largest endeavor yet, a long-form about race.

The idea is noteworthy. Brave. To broach this ugly topic in such an unwelcoming neighborhood takes some otherworldly chutzpah. The execution? Botched would be an understatement.

Instead of pulling back the curtains of ignorance and negligence, the piece added more and more curtains, hiding a stage for students of color to honestly talk about racism in their home. The majority of students interviewed provided little, if any, substantial insight on this matter; what was written included not urgency and passion, but lassitude and nonchalance. Given the elevated socioeconomic background of most of those in the profile, racism ceases to become a major factor in quality of life. That’s not the case in everywhere else in the U.S. It is understandable that some of these Scots of color didn’t add much to the public discourse on racism in the modern era, but noxious aftereffects lie latent. White readers might be convinced that racism doesn’t exist in 2017 after all, given the lame answers in the article, more likely to perpetuate racial discord with a complete lack of understanding of the topic of racism. This is dangerous to everyone, not just Americans of color. Such illiteracy will only snowball, encouraging the continuation of the decades of racism and intolerance that plague the Park Cities and the United States as a whole. The future generation of America must understand the far-reaching repercussions of racism and be willing to act to ameliorate unequal social and political conditions for minorities.

What’s even more concerning is the inadvertent limelight on Asian stereotypes. As grade-grubbing. As nerds. As incompetent in social skills. As foreigners, outsiders, those who are so different from the rest of “us.” This not only hinders Asian-Americans’ easing into the American cultural tapestry but also misrepresents an entire race. Millions of people–completely different in class, gender identity, sexual orientation, social and academic background and affiliation–suffer from this myth, and this article will surely not help out with unifying Americans and promoting racial equality and mutual understanding.

We need some chicken noodle soup for the soul in order to make a dent in this centuries-old juggernaut. What does that entail? Dialogue, empathy, and an open heart.

What a year! I haven’t been blogging lately because I was crushed under a mountain’s worth of homework and activities. Now that AP exams are over, it’s time to dissect this year, one piece at a time. An overarching buzzword to describe this past school year: fatigue. I have thoroughly enjoyed everything that I have done, from AcDec to UIL science to schoolwork (yes, I enjoy school), but there is such a thing as too much. I constantly felt the burden deep down within my heart of overloading myself. Maybe six AP courses were too much to bear in one year! However, I can’t imagine myself in a different lifestyle in terms of my academic load; I can’t stand being bored in class, filling in inane worksheets and completing using bubble maps or outlines or annotations. Perhaps I would have toned down my involvements outside of school–only through the agony of junior year have I figured out the ineffable, inherent beauty behind reading endless articles on

An overarching buzzword to describe this past school year: fatigue. I have thoroughly enjoyed everything that I have done, from AcDec to UIL science to schoolwork (yes, I enjoy school), but there is such a thing as too much. I constantly felt the burden deep down within my heart of overloading myself. Maybe six AP courses were too much to bear in one year! However, I can’t imagine myself in a different lifestyle in terms of my academic load; I can’t stand being bored in class, filling in inane worksheets and completing using bubble maps or outlines or annotations. But perhaps I would have toned down my involvements outside of school–only through the agony of junior year have I figured out the ineffable, inherent beauty behind reading endless articles on The New York Times, drinking a cup of tea on the balcony, munching on a five-dollar picnic on a breezy lawn, or stargazing on the high school track. The beauty of life lies in its simplicity.

I’ve met some truly wonderful people this year. AcDec has proved to be even more rewarding that I would have thought. The ironclad bonds that I have formed with my teammates and coaches will last a lifetime; in the deepest of despondencies, I found laughter, joy, and hope through our various shenanigans. For this, I missed Area C (a local classics competition) and prom, but AcDec was definitely worth it. There’s something about a week-long “hotel arrest” that creates friendships and memories any other activity will never even begin to attempt. Within school hours, I sought refuge in the Davenportian cove on a daily basis. Those dim lamplights harbor me from my worst anxieties and fears, my problems and conflicts on the outside world. Inside lies a comforting, motherly warmth, stocked with wit, sarcasm, and empathy. I’ve been shaken to my core time and time again from the conversations, some more profound than others, that took place in WC105. Nothing else has made more of an impact on my transition into adulthood.

Friendships: some wither, and some grow. It was only natural that I strike up new camaraderie with completely new peers and lose the kinder that lighted my past few years. I not only kept up but also strengthened my relationships with most of my peers, and this provided solace for the torturous path of high school. One remarkable shift is my detachment from the drama of my peers; this change has improved my mental health and my outlook on the future. Fewer love triangles and catfights mean less myopia obscuring my vision of the world around me.

Some lingerings of apprehension about the summer ahead haunt me: I’m doing a lot. Research daily for 8 weeks, once-a-week hospital volunteering, Camp CAMP… I am not afraid to let some of these commitments grow in order to more passionately pursue a few interests. There need not be a sampling plate of amuse-bouches, but rather a hearty steak to dine on. Regardless of what I manage to do, I remain optimistic about where I am heading.

Every Saturday night at 11 p.m., well past my bedtime in years yonder, I dropped down into the billowing cushions of my Cheeto-smeared, olive-green couch, turned on the TV that was becoming a tween (like me), and flipped to channel 5, NBC. Saturday Night Live has walked by my side as I have grown up, and as our country has metamorphosized. From “Peggy” to “The Californians” to “Gilly at the Science Fair,” I’ve lived all the memorable moments of that characteristic punch of humor. Before this raucous election season, SNL took a steep downturn, but the innate comedic genius has finally cracked out of its pupa.

Never before has a president so irrationally excoriate free press and media before. Trump’s baseless and ignoble attacks on SNL are no exception to his usual complaining. In response, one of the greatest eras of satire has emerged. This time around, instead of gross travesties of political caricatures and obscene jokes, SNL has repeatedly hit home runs with every show. Lorne Michaels and the cast now refuse to obfuscate their scathingly brilliant political commentary, displaying the highlights of the week’s political headlines with panache. More interesting is their continual use of comediennes to act out male roles within the Beltway. Kate McKinnon and Melissa McCarthy have effused the political incompetence and egregious unscrupulousness of the current kakistocracy, a feature that Trump loathes even more than “illegals” taking “our jobs.” The nettlesome behavior embodies the quintessence of comedy done right.

Through their various courageous stunts, SNL has helped us rediscover the power of humor–no, it is not merely escapism in times of darkness and uncertainty. It is a tool to poke holes at the establishment, to remind us of our true fundamental values, to shout from mountaintops for those who cannot even whisper in the deepest abysses. Humor is what we the people can use to cast light on pressing issues to be solved statim and to express our common sentiments. This is how we crystallize our beliefs with which we can rally. We can make a real difference with our midnight jokes–what we need is belief. Now shall we rise and plant our seedlings of our grousings to grow the bountiful orchards of satirical discontent. Trust me, the fruit will taste sweet.

Well-known by now, 2016 was dubbed the worst year in recent history. There’s plenty to support this claim, from the unprecedented “Brexit” referendum and U.S. election outcomes to the horrific terrorist attacks in Europe to an unending string of celebrity deaths. Many, including myself, are looking forward to the new year, but there is some room to despair: how will Trump’s nascent and capricious administration change the course of the U.S., if at all? What will happen to ISIS and Syria? How will U.S.-Russia and U.S.-China relations play out in the near future?

2017 is definitely a clean slate, yet it is also shrouded in mystery and uncertainty. The tribulations that racked our world in the past year will probably proceed into this fresh one, as problems don’t follow the arbitrary human definitions of time. What we must imbed into our mentalities looking forward is a sense of hopeful optimism and tenacity–it may seem like pandemonium now, but decades and centuries down the road, humankind will look back and find that we, as a global community, will grow together and discover that, underneath the masquerades of labels and pretenses, we share more similarities than diverge in our differences. Through these troubling waters, our mast will inevitably guide us to dry land. It is critical to the benefit of all the world’s citizens to take part in healing and loving in times of despondency and hopelessness. Stepping into this new liminal state on a dreary and cloudy day, I carry a slight smile on my face and an umbrella to battle the rain.